


Astray

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 13:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16018574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: The Duke of Norfolk approaches Phryne with a proposition. She and Jack have things to discuss.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [One For Sorrow, Two For Joy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14377452) by [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign). 



> In [One For Sorrow, Two For Joy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14377452/chapters/33195360), Phryne's old friend Norf developed an appalling habit of flirting with Jack while I was trying to get them to solve a mystery. This, naturally, led to the conclusion that the three of them had to have an evening of debauchery at least once before Phrack left England.
> 
> Sadly, my ambitions were too big for my skills and my plans to carefully examine Jack's sexuality in this very specific prism became nothing more than straight-up smut. But it's good smut, so I'm trying not to be too disappointed in myself. ;-P
> 
> The first chapter is straight Phrack smut, the rest is not QuiltingMom Approved. Though I really do hope she reads it, for reasons. She might even like the ending.

There was a trail of hair that ran from Jack’s navel to the base of his cock; Phryne absently followed the path with a scrape of her fingernails, more curiosity than prurient interest in her touch—that particular desire had already been sated, at least for the moment. Her head rested on his shoulder as she watched her pale hand roaming against his skin, a gesture that felt surprisingly intimate. It was not a new development—she had done so with many men for many reasons—but it felt… different, with Jack. More comfortable. Safe, perhaps, which was not usually a state she sought. But there was much that was new with this, and more to learn. 

“You’re thinking, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled.

She tilted her head to glance up to his face, noticing the sleepy smile and half-closed eyes, and smiled.

“Nothing serious, I assure you.”

Which was true, for a given value of serious. He didn’t question her, just smiled and closed his eyes once more, the hand trailing against her back the only sign he was still awake. 

“When you’re ready,” he said; damn his detective skills. Still, no point dithering now.

“I spoke with Norf this evening.”

“Ahh. How is our favourite incorrigible cad of a duke?”

“Rather taken with you, actually,” she said, glossing over her first prickling instinct to be jealous; territorial did not suit her. 

Eyes still closed, he managed to raise an eyebrow; he didn’t seem at all surprised. She’d suspected—it would have been impossible not to, being familiar with both men as she was. Norf was known to flirt with just about anyone, but there had been moments when she was certain Jack had returned the flirtations in his understated manner, when there had been hints of… not longing, but something. 

“What gave you that impression?” he asked, voice still languid and with no hint of apology.

“He asked whether we’d be interested in a ménage à trois.”

That _did_ surprise him; his eyes shot open, his mouth agape.

“He was very quick to reassure me that he has the utmost discretion when it comes to these arrangements,” Phryne said, hiding a small smile at his reaction. 

“He is aware that I’m a policeman, not one of his public school friends?”

“Not an insurmountable conflict.”

Jack scoffed. 

“Have you ever?” Phryne asked. 

“No,” he said contemplatively. “Not… I could have, I suspect. There were times, during the war, and first a respectable marriage and then rumours in another direction would have afforded some leniency, perhaps. But there was never enough reason to risk it.”

It should have been a clear no, and if it had Phryne would have let it drop. She knew the risks as well as he did; even an accusation could destroy his career, and a conviction? A police officer in gaol was a target at the best of times. But his expression, his tone… there was an openness there, a refusal to apologise for his desires, whether or not he acted on them.

“And if there had been?”

“Been what?”

“Enough to risk it.”

He shrugged without shrugging, the gesture implied by his general air. Not sad, really. Resigned, perhaps, but not unhappy with his lot either. 

“What could be enough?”

“Love?”

“One troublesome toff is enough for me,” he said dryly, and Phryne laughed.

“I should hope so. Attraction, then? Curiosity?” she dropped her voice, tracing circles against his stomach. “Desire? He’s a magnetic person, and very handsome.”

Some combination of her touch and the conversation had stirred his interest; his eyes had grown darker, and his cock twitched. Her hand drifted south and her lips found his jaw, pressing light kisses against it.

“I can imagine it perfectly,” she said, one finger stroking the underside of his mostly flaccid cock. “There’s an old groundskeeper’s cottage on the estate. Isolated at the far end of the park, and kept stocked with essentials for days it’s needed. When work is going on, for example.” She paused, noting how his breath had sped up; almost imperceptible, but she knew him well. “When Norf wishes to show off the breadth of the estate.”

“Not sure how that would help,” Jack said. “Passing the night in his den of iniquity is hardly likely to go unnoticed.”

“Are you thinking of it, Jack?” she murmured. “His face in the firelight, my hand palming you through your trousers, the way he shrugs his riding jacket off to reveal the shirt beneath. There’s something about broad shoulders in shirtsleeves, don’t you think?”

He moaned, biting his lip, his cock hardening rapidly. She wrapped her hand around it and began to stroke, murmuring admiration. Her beautiful Jack.

“Nobody ever comes to the cottage,” she continued, “being so isolated.”

“The staff must know,” Jack pointed out, logical even now. 

“Of course. There are two bedrooms, two beds. No evidence that can’t be explained away by just the two of us. Not that his staff are likely to talk.”

She slid down the bed to take him in her mouth; his hand fisted into her hair as she swirled her tongue around his length, tugging slightly and setting an ache of desire to her own cunt. With a final kiss to his cockhead, she moved back up to kiss him thoroughly.

“Can you taste yourself?” she asked. “Can you imagine tasting it on his tongue? He’s a marvelous kisser, Jack, almost as good as you.”

“I imagine it’s the practice,” he sassed, encouraging her hand to speed up; he closed his eyes at the sensation.

“Perhaps,” Phryne said. “And for all his debauchery, he’s never been caught.”

“I seem to recall more than a few stories that suggest otherwise.”

“Not over this,” Phryne said. “There are payments to police that could be seen as a bribe, but never accusations. He’s careful, Jack. Amongst other admirable traits.”

She took his grunt as curiosity, and picked up where she had left off.

“We’re in the cottage, and as you kiss, I would undress you both. Explore every inch of your skin. Leave my mark on your shoulder blade, bite that bicep. Scratch my nails down your back.” She demonstrated the latter with a gentle graze of fingernails against his ballsack; his sharp sip of air and tilted head encouraging her. “When I was satisfied, I’d demand your beautiful mouth; and as you gave it, he would hold you just like I am now, stroking your cock until all you can think of is the pleasure and the pressure threatening to overwhelm you, until you are ready to beg for more, until two of us is not enough for you.”

He was close, his eyes screwed shut and his heels digging into the mattress as he thrust up in time to the motion of her hands, his breath sharp and panting, his skin flushed; he was exquisite like this, and she moved closer to lick the taut tendon in his neck, feeling the hoarse rumble as he broke against her tongue, the warm spurt of his release against her hand.

“Christ, love,” he muttered, the endearment falling from his lips easily; she kissed him, as if she could capture the last syllables with her mouth.

“Enjoy that?” she teased, leaning away slightly to lick her fingers clean; he groaned as he watched her, pulling her back down atop him to kiss her when she was done.

He really was an excellent kisser, it was rather distracting.

“ _Ja-ack_ ,” she protested with absolutely no sincerity, “I did ask a question.” 

“Did you?” he replied, smiling wryly. “I don’t remember.”

She ran a hand through his hair affectionately, then met his eyes.

“I understand if you’d rather not,” she said softly. “But pretending the offer isn’t out there…”

He nodded. “It’s… what do you think?”

Phryne waited, her hand still stroking his hair. The question deserved a considered answer, and she weighed her response carefully.

“I think that… if this is an offer that interests you, it’s the best we would get. Norf can be many things, but I trust him. He’s considerate, and cautious when he needs to be. And there’s clearly some connection—I think he’s had more luck piquing your interest than I ever did,” Phryne teased.

Jack laughed. “I believe you can take credit for my willingness on this particular front.”

“Which is flattering,” Phryne replied. “But I want to make it clear that this is an offer for you, not a request from me.”

His brow furrowed. “You don’t want to?”

“I never said that. There’s much to be said for two attractive men in one bed. But this is a choice you need to make. Not to appease me. If it’s too much, or you’re uninterested… there will be no judgement, I promise you.” She kissed the tip of his nose; it really was an endearing little upturn. “But if this is something that you want…”

Jack Robinson’s desires were a thing she was intimately familiar with, as was his reluctance to indulge. A small push couldn’t hurt. She grinned down at him.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “Noble Jack Robinson must always do the right thing, regardless of—”

In one smooth motion he flipped them over and pinned her hands above her head. His smile was sultry and teasing and frankly fucking _filthy_ as he began to kiss down her body.

“Not. Always. Miss Fisher,” he growled, teeth scraping against her stomach and making her shiver. “Telephone him in the morning.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out I can't post without giving everything another read through for typos (which I'll still miss, most likely), so I'm afraid chapters 3 and 4 will likely go up tomorrow. Until then, enjoy the chapter I call "Everyone flirts at Jack via Shakespearean dick jokes." You're welcome.

Jack took a bite of his eggs and turned the page of the newspaper. It was a local publication, filled primarily with advertisements and job vacancies and a handful of brief articles, but it was an ingrained habit.

“Don’t tell me you’re in search of a new occupation?” Norf said from across the table. Jack looked up; the other man was sprawled in his chair, a grin on his face as he gestured with a marmalade-laden triangle of toast. “Your stint as a butler couldn’t have been that entertaining.”

“Given the glares of your cook when I arrived as myself, I’m fairly certain there’s no future in service for me,” Jack replied. “I’m just pleased she hasn’t poisoned my omelet.”

“Phsaw! Sal’s an old kitty cat.”

Jack grunted instead of replying; Norf’s cook was deeply protective of the man, prone to thinking Phryne had led him astray, and distinctly unhappy with the discovery the butler she’d allowed into her kitchen was actually a police officer from the Antipodes in the midst of a scandalous affair with the subject of her ire. Some of the other staff had been slightly more accepting, but it was an unexpected complication in his return to Arundel. Of course, all of that was slightly less galling than the fact that he was, officially, a guest in a castle that dated to the era of the Norman conquest, but as _that_ absurdity came with Phryne Fisher in his bed (or he in hers), it was slightly easier to accept.

Not, he thought, that that was the biggest issue to hand.

Some part of him thought himself mad to have accepted the weekend’s invitation. Even with Phryne’s words as they’d left London echoing in his ears—“Don’t take this the wrong way, darling, but a man few people even realise is a policeman half a world away is the least blackmail-worthy member of this equation.”—the potential consequences of his actions were hard to deny. And it was against his nature to even if he could. But he was also human, damn it, and intrigued; mad though it might be, curiosity had led him worse places than this.

Besides, with his chiseled features and devil-may-care attitude, Norf was _very_ attractive.

(Jack had justifications for that as well. Attraction was one thing, but desire for someone he barely knew… that was far less familiar territory. He certainly wasn’t going to apologise for it though, even as he found himself trying to understand it. He was done apologising, done denying himself. Mostly. Probably.)

“Phryne says you’re a Shakespeare man, Jack?” Norf asked.

Jack looked up—the duke was clearly attempting to set him at ease, a consideration he appreciated, even if it fell somewhat flat. It was hardly the man’s fault that a young Jack had lost himself in the sonnets, intrigued equally by a fair youth and a dark lady and struggling to reconcile the two. 

“I find there is almost always a use for him,” Jack replied.

“Ah,” said Norf, giving Jack an conspiratorial look and a roguish wink; he really was a shameless flirt. “I never got much beyond ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.’ myself. My tutors despaired of me, I’m afraid.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Jack replied, trying to hide his smile. 

“Why what?”

Jack glanced towards the door, where Phryne had just arrived. In the weeks since his arrival in London and their newfound understanding, their intimacy had grown but the novelty had not abated. He really did love her. The smile he’d attempted to hide spilled over his face, and Phryne returned it.

“Good morning, Miss Fisher. We were just discussing Norf’s education.”

“A tragic tale, I’m sure,” Phryne said, helping herself to the brunch laid out on the sideboard. “I can’t imagine many lessons stuck.”

“Phrynekins!” Norf exclaimed in mock outrage. “You’re correct, of course, but I’m still offended.”

“Be as offended as you like,” Phryne replied as she took a seat next to Jack. “I’ve better things to do than pander to your delicate sensibilities.”

“Such as take a ride?” Norf suggested. “I had a thought to take the horses, show your inspector here the length of the park.”

It was not a casual suggestion but a planned pretense; Phryne still glanced towards Jack to confirm their answer. He nodded his head slightly, and the look on her face—a mixture akin to pleasure and pride and a little surprise—was enough to wash away any lingering concerns. However this might play out, however mad it may be, Phryne would not steer him wrong.

“That sounds wonderful,” Jack said. “It’s been years since I’ve been on a horse.”

Norf glanced at his wristwatch, another careful pretense.

“I’ll inform the staff,” he said. “It gets dark quite early this time of year, but there’s a cottage at the far end of the park we can stop by for tea. I’ll have them pack a picnic, even. If the weather turns or we’re delayed, I’ll let them know we may stay the night.”

Jack finished his brunch and drained the last of his coffee from his cup, then stood. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I should change into something more appropriate for a ride,” he said. 

“Excellent idea, old chap,” Norf said. “Say, are you finished with that?” 

He nodded to the newspaper still in Jack’s hand. 

“Looking for a new position?” Jack smirked, handing it over.

Norf’s fingers brushed Jack’s, and the glancing touch was surprisingly warm. He allowed the connection to linger a second too long to be accidental, and looked into Norf’s dark eyes. The other man met his gaze deliberately, amusement and desire both evident. Jack gave a small smile.

Madness, he decided, had the potential to be quite a bit of fun.

———

It was a rare thing indeed for Phryne to come last in anything, but as she watched Jack and Norf rising and falling in their seats as they navigated the sometimes difficult terrain on horseback, she found she really couldn’t complain. It gave her an _excellent_ view.

Norf had been sincere in his offer to show them the estate’s grounds. Early winter was not the best time of year to visit, but he was a dutiful host; possibly from a sense of duty, more likely because the more he talked the more Jack responded. Phryne knew all too well how disarmingly charming Jack’s attention could be—so very different than the usual suspects in her affairs, and most definitely different than the people Norf tended to bed—and she could hardly begrudge Norf the indulgence. And when Jack would turn in his saddle to look back at her, eyes dancing and cheeks reddened with cold, she found it was an indulgence for her as well.

“What do you think, Miss Fisher?” he called back. 

“I think you ought to keep your eyes on your horse, Jack. I really don’t fancy you spooking the poor thing and ending up in a creek in this cold.”

“You could always warm me up,” he countered. 

She rolled her eyes, more fond than exasperated despite the complete lack of subtlety. 

“Better a witty fool, Jack...”

“With you, Miss Fisher, I find it best to keep control of all my wits.”

They rode a little further, crossing the small creek that eventually fed into the River Arun which glinted in the distance, and came to the groundskeeper’s cottage about an hour before dark would fall. It was nothing remarkable: a four-room thatch-roofed cottage consisting of a kitchen-cum-parlour, two bedrooms, and a fairly new lavatory with running water—because there were some facilities Norf could not do without—on a single storey, with small shuttered windows set deep within the grey stonework. There had been two groundskeepers on the estate, once upon a time, but the advent of motorcars and Norf’s occasionally strained finances had made it unnecessary, and when one of the men had passed away the position and its accompanying cottage had not been filled. Now it was in use several times a month, when the sole groundskeeper was checking on the property or by Norf himself, and was therefore in good condition despite its lack of occupant.

The three riders dismounted, and Norf offered to take the horses to the small fenced paddock and lean-to behind the cottage if Phryne and Jack would get the fire lit and dinner started. Phryne leapt at the offer, finding that she wanted to have Jack to herself for a moment before the evening’s entertainments began. Once inside, they worked together in near silence—Phryne lit the woodstove and the fire in the grate while Jack took blankets from the chest to make up both beds, then together they laid out the meal of cold meats and vegetables on the rough-hewn wooden table. He seemed… not unhappy, but contemplative. Easily lost in his own head.

“Jack,” she said quietly, and he glanced up; his eyes were dark and secretive, and she found herself stepping closer, wanting to touch and reassure and promise him the world but unwilling to risk overstepping. “When you’re ready.”

His lip twitched in a motion she recognised as a smile, and he closed the distance between them to press his forehead against hers. 

“I have no idea where to put my hands,” he confessed, looking endearingly embarrassed.

She caught his hand with hers, settling it on her waist and moving closer so their bodies brushed with each breath.

“Wherever you like, Jack,” she purred coyly, looking up at him through lowered eyelashes and willing him to play the game. He hesitated instead.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to satisfy…”

“A man?” Phryne suggested. “The same way you satisfy me—by listening, observing, asking…”

“Two,” he corrected, voice soft. “I don’t know how to satisfy two.”

Her beautiful man; she leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“There are more to satisfy,” she agreed, “but more people to shoulder that responsibility. And we are quite adept at ensuring our own pleasure.”

His response was a chagrined shrug, as if to say that was some of his concern, and she kissed his mouth again; his lips parted and she deepened the kiss, partly in reassurance, but mostly because he was an excellent kisser and she was happy to take any opportunity offered to her. His hand on her hip tightened and she gasped against his mouth, the sensation sparking a flame low in her belly.

“Did I hurt you?” he panted, releasing her immediately.

“Not at all, Jack,” she smiled. “Keep kissing like that and there will be no concerns about satisfaction.” She dropped her hands to grasp his arse. “Though I might be less inclined to share you.”

The teasing confession was worth it—his smile in response was smug and confident and reached his eyes. 

“You do want—”

“I do. You?”

“Yes,” he said. 

“Good.” A soft, delighted laugh escaped, and she felt herself blush. 

There was a sound by the door.

“I do hope I’m not inconveniencing you two lovebirds,” Norf said, standing in the doorway. “Though frankly I wouldn’t care if I was—I’m positively famished!”

Catching Jack’s eye—definitely amused, and perhaps more than a little intrigued—Phryne stepped back, giving Jack’s hand a final squeeze before heading to the table to eat. There would be plenty of time after the meal. 


	3. Chapter 3

The meal was simple but filling and delicious, and the conversation flowed easily as they ate. A combination of upbringing and personality let Norf converse easily on just about any subject, though his own interests seemed centred on cricket, epicurean indulgences, and motor cars, and Jack found that his own contributions to the conversation were welcome but not required. It was an arrangement that suited Jack rather well, all things considered. When the food was done, they moved closer to the fireplace—the sun had set and the winter’s chill had begun to encroach on the little cottage, and the extra warmth was much appreciated—and continued their discussion on the merits of banning books.

“I’m simply saying, it works as a wonderful recommendation,” Norf said easily. “I wouldn’t be half so intrigued if they weren’t.”

“That says more about you than the books, Norf,” Phryne laughed, settling next to Jack on the chaise. “I’ve never needed directing into trouble.”

Norf threw his head back and laughed, a dimple appearing on his cheek.

“True enough!” he agreed. “What about you, Jack? I’m sure a policeman such as yourself has all sorts of opinions on the Obscene and Indecent Publications Act.”

It was the first time his occupation had been raised that evening, and Jack felt Phryne’s hand tense against his leg. He was far away from those duties though, ensconced in a cottage far from society and even further from anyone who knew him, and shrugged.

“It would be hypocritical of me to press charges,” he said. “Though I wasn’t terribly pleased when one showed up in my police station, Miss Fisher.”

She let loose with a noise Jack could only describe as a cackle, and Jack felt himself chuckling along.

“You never said a word!” she accused. “Did Hugh lag?”

“Did he have to?” Jack replied. “There really weren’t any other viable sources.”

“You hadn’t known me that long, Jack! How could you possibly have concluded it was mine?”

“It must have been my experience as a detective,” he said dryly.

She smiled again, then slid her hand against his thigh suggestively.

“Was it… inspiring, Jack?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.

He leant in, close enough he knew she’d feel his breath on her ear.

“Not as inspiring as you sitting on my desk, Miss Fisher, but it did the job.”

When he pulled away, there was smugness in her smile and a vulnerable openness in her lustful eyes, and the combination threatened to disarm him where he sat. 

“You two really are bordering on insufferable.”

Jack winced and pulled away slightly. Phryne looked over his shoulder to where Norf was sat. 

“Don’t be jealous, Norf,” she reprimanded playfully. “I have it on good authority his affection can be bought with some quality whiskey.”

“Luckily for me, then, I have some Scotch that should do the job,” Norf said. “Drink, Jack?”

Feeling rather embarrassed—it was just so _easy_ to lose himself in Phryne, with her wit and familiarity and utter magnetism—Jack nodded in acquiescence. He watched Norf rise and cross the room, where he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and some tumblers.

“Phrynekins?” he asked, holding up the bottle.

“Of course, darling.”

Norf filled the glasses, then looked at them in slight consternation, as if only just realising the difficulties in carrying three at once. Quite possibly it was a dilemma he had never before faced. Jack rolled his eyes and stood up, wondering exactly how the upper class ever managed to find their way out of bed some mornings. Not, given his acquaintance with some of them, that they seemed particularly inclined to do so. 

“Need help?” he asked as he approached.

Norf turned, an unembarrassed grin on his face. 

Jack kissed him.

He could blame it on the crinkle in the corner of Norf’s eyes, or the way the firelight made his skin glow, or the open neck of his shirt—Norf had discarded his cravat during dinner. But really, Jack just wanted to. So he did. Lips parted, hand against the back of Norf’s head to guide him closer, the first hints of stubble against Jack’s chin electrifying in its difference to kissing Phryne. Pulled away, gave Norf an unembarrassed grin of his own.

“I’ll presume that’s a yes, then,” he said. 

Leaving Norf actually silent, Jack snagged two tumblers and headed back towards the chaise, trying to hide his own reaction—it had been a rather good kiss, all things considered. Phryne was looking at him expectantly, one hand extended to take her drink and a inquisitive look in her eyes.

“You’re very adept at that, for someone who never has,” she remarked. 

He shrugged, and gave her a look that promised an explanation later. He hadn’t been entirely transparent about his experience when the topic had been raised; he was not ashamed of those few moments at war—touches and kisses but never more—save what it said about his marriage, but he’d done his best not to think about it. To have risked so much ran counter to his nature, or the nature he believed himself to have, and to dwell on it raised new dangers. But it was, he supposed, a lie by omission, and he did not want that to become a habit. 

“Must be a natural talent,” he said.

Phryne nodded, and glanced towards Norf.

“He seems to think so,” she said _sotto voce_ , then raised her voice. “Are you intending to join us, Norf? Unless you’d rather stand there all evening.”

Her teasing seemed to get through to him, because Norf took a swig of his drink and returned to sprawl in the armchair, legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankles.

“I didn’t expect quite so much success with that,” he laughed, a lock of his hair falling across his forehead. The firelight caught the reddish undertones beautifully. 

“Jack’s full of surprises,” Phryne said, leaning forward to place her hand on his thigh once more.

Norf looked him over approvingly, a slyness to his gaze that was almost enough to have Jack squirming in his seat. Almost. Jack sipped his whiskey to school his reaction, which admittedly would have been more effective if Phryne’s hand wasn’t inching upward with clear intent but clearly did the job well enough. Norf set his tumbler on a side table and stood.

“Right then, inspector,” he said, gesturing for Jack to stand. “Let’s see what other hidden talents you possess.” 

Phryne’s hand slid against his as she took his glass, and Jack glanced towards her. The spark in her eyes—desire and curiosity and utter delight—steeled his resolve. He stood and stepped towards Norf, remarkably free of hesitation; the other man met him halfway, hands coming to loosely rest on Jack’s waist—a physical intimacy, but one easily broken if Jack stepped away. 

Jack had no intention of stepping away.

As far as second kisses went, he’d had better (though, really, that second kiss with Phryne had nearly a year of not-kisses behind it and probably shouldn’t count), but he’d definitely had worse. Third, fourth, definitely an improvement. 

Jack’s eyes drifted closed, his focus on the slide of Norf’s tongue and the spicy scent of his cologne. He startled when he felt another hand against his back, then realised it was Phryne behind him. She kissed the nape of his neck, the whisper-light brush of her lips causing him to shiver. Norf paused and Jack opened his eyes to see what had caused it; Norf’s attention had turned to Phryne, who had stopped kissing Jack’s neck. The two of them were clearly communicating without words, because Norf broke out in a grin and kissed Jack again.

“If it gets too much,” he whispered between kisses, voice hoarse and sincere and rather absurdly attractive, “just say butler.”

———

It was Phryne who eventually suggested they move proceedings into the other room, despite the fact that both men seemed quite content to stay where they were. They followed her when she sashayed away though, faces flushed in the low light of the parlour; she found herself glancing back towards them as she reached the door. 

There was a small fireplace in the bedroom; Jack had clearly lit it when making the rooms up, and while it had died down somewhat it was enough to keep the chill of the weather at bay and provide a small amount of light as Phryne crossed the room to turn on the lamp next to the large bed. It was a comfortable room, slightly smaller than her bedroom at home, decorated in browns and greens reminiscent of the woods outside the cottage, but there was nothing particularly remarkable about it. Fireplace, chest of drawers, small changing screen painted with pheasants, bedside table with a lamp. Wooden shutters which locked from the inside ensured anybody coming across the cottage with nefarious intentions wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

Satisfied that things were as they should be, she took a robe from the chest of drawers and slipped behind the screen to change and place her dutch cap. She trailed a hand up her stomach to a breast, giving a soft tweak to her nipple as she imagined Jack’s hands, Norf’s mouth, before wrapping herself in the deep green silk robe that sent slithers of pleasure across her skin and refreshing her lipstick. 

Stepping out from behind the screen, Phryne looked to the men, who had continued to undress as they kissed. Braces hung at hips, shirts were discarded to reveal the undershirts beneath, sinewed hands ran along muscles. Jack was moving with an intensity that was both hunger and restraint, and he quickly tugged Norf’s undershirt from his trousers and lifted it over his head. Phryne gave a smug smile; it did make a gorgeous tableau, but damn if she’d let them have all the fun. 

Padding over to them, she brushed a kiss against Norf’s shoulder and gave him a knowing look when he caught her eye; his roguish smile and lust-dark eyes reflected her own thoughts. There was an immense satisfaction in bringing the joys of debauchery to someone new, and Jack seemed to be such a willing pupil. She turned her attention to him, slipping around his back and inching her hand between the two men to unfasten Jack’s trousers and slip her hand inside. 

“Mmm, darling,” she purred, feeling his cock hard and heavy beneath the cotton of his undershorts. She gave it a light squeeze and a stroke, feeling his hips nudge towards her. “Is this for us, Jack?”

“I don’t see anyone else asking,” he growled, and really something that absurd should not send a shock of desire through her.

“I should hope not,” she said tartly, nipping at the lobe of his ear. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

She continued to stroke him, sliding his trousers and shorts past his hips; they dropped to his ankles and she gave a soft laugh.

“Don’t try to escape,” she teased, running her hands over his thighs and bending down to free him from the fabric. His attention was focused on Norf, so she pressed a kiss to the back of his knee to make him jump.

“Cheek,” he muttered, barely breaking away from Norf’s lips to say it. 

“Careful, Jack, or I’ll tell Norf precisely where you’re ticklish.”

Norf chuckled and danced his fingers up Jack’s sides, tugging the undershirt up as he did so; it wasn’t Jack’s ticklish spot, but from the twitch of his cock it was clearly an erogenous one. Interesting; she hadn’t noticed that before. She kissed the newly exposed cockhead, smiling at the lip mark left behind, then stood again. 

Jack tore his attention away from Norf for a moment, giving Phryne a salacious smile as he reached out to catch her hand and tug her close. His fingers swiftly found the knotted sash at her waist and slowly undid it, his lips teasing her throat until she closed her eyes and sighed. One hand slid up, slipping beneath the neck of the robe to tease her breast. 

“What did I say, Miss Fisher?” he asked, giving her nipple a firm tweak before pulling his hand away. She groaned at the loss of contact, and felt his lips curve into a smile. 

“I never follow orders,” she sassed back. “You should know that by now.”

He gave a considered hum. “Not tonight, at least.”

And when he said it like that, all growled and confident and just the right side of dangerous, compliance really did have its appeal. She took a half-step closer so her body was pressed against his, the warmth of his skin and the hard length of his cock palpable through her dressing gown. 

“Is that a promise, inspector?” she said with a purr, looking at him through lowered eyelashes; it was a cheap ploy, but the playfully knowing tilt of his head made it worth the pretense.

“I’m a man who keeps his word,” he responded.

“That you are, Jack,” she smirked, kissing him softly. Tearing her gaze away from the promise in his eyes, she nodded towards Norf, who had taken a step back to finish undressing. “And right now I believe you promised…”

Jack turned away, and she felt the sudden absence of his body keenly. His hands moved to the waist of Norf’s trousers; she watched his long, careful fingers unfasten them, slipping beneath the waistband with surety to stroke the skin hidden beneath. 

“Allow me,” he murmured, kneeling down.

Norf grinned at Phryne. “Rather solicitous, isn’t he?” 

“You have no idea,” she laughed, stepping closer to Jack’s shoulder and running her hand through his hair, the soft strands twisting around her fingers. She gave a gentle tug, watching his eyes widen slightly at the sensation. Excellent. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind a little direction. “And the things his mouth can do…”

He took the cue, wrapping a hand around Norf’s erection and giving it a firm stroke before taking it in his mouth. Phryne watched his cheeks hollow as he began to move, his eyes closed; it really was a beautiful sight. Then Norf touched her cheek and she looked at him; his eyes were half-hooded in sensation as he encouraged Phryne’s lips to his, his kiss confident and sure.

Her own eyes drifted shut as she focused on the feel of Jack’s hair against her palm and Norf’s mouth against her and his hands roaming against the skin exposed by the open robe. She barely noticed when Jack’s hand slid around the back of her leg, pushing the silk upwards as his hand moved up her thigh; the first stroke of his fingers against her clit caused her to gasp. Norf chuckled, one arm sliding around her waist to hold her steady as he deepened the kiss.

She surrendered to the sensations, until she felt nothing but the touch of others and the sounds of their pleasure and the the growing, aching need in her belly that was never enough. The sure sweep of a tongue against hers, coaxing her closer; a breaching of her cunt with fingers that knew precisely how to draw her pleasure out; her own panted breath as she sought and fought her release in equal measure, until it was almost too much.

“Jack,” she whispered, the way one would say please or god or yes—a certainty, a plea, a desire so deep it was not a conscious choice. “ _Jack_.”

He was there, his mouth moving against her clit and his fingers pressing just the right place, and she came apart inside and out, white hot flashes of light against her eyelids and a ragged sob escaping her throat as her legs gave way. She didn’t fall, dimly aware of hands keeping her upright, caring very little about them when her body was still trembling with sensation; she was even more dimly aware of movement, then the softness of a mattress against her back. She opened her eyes to see Jack looking down at her, hand on her shoulder, smiling—a little smugly, a little tenderly, and utterly in love. She raised one hand to cup his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. 

They were still kissing when his hand skimmed down her shoulder, teasing her clavicle, her breast, her stomach, a thousand sparks igniting in his path. He stopped just short of her sex and she gave a muffled groan of protest, felt his amusement; she opened her eyes, doing her best to glare. 

“Bastard,” she muttered, parting her legs and nudging him until he lay atop her.

“Such language,” he scolded, nibbling at her ear until she exhaled a breathy ‘fuck’. “Did you want something?”

She gripped his hips and pulled him closer, moaning at the rub of his cock against her still-tender flesh. 

“Fuck me.”

He did, long, slow strokes as he kissed her, an electric line of pleasure running between the two points of connection; her hips rocked to meet him, wanting every press of his body into hers to last longer, deeper; soon she was panting again, the ascent to climax so much shorter this time. His strokes began to speed up, his hips stuttering, erratic; there was a bead of sweat on his jaw she longed to lick, an intensity in his eyes stretched almost to the breaking point. 

Some vague part of her became aware of Norf on the bed, somewhere just outside her line of vision. What was he…? She lifted her head just enough to make out Norf’s head, moving down Jack’s back; she fell back against the pillows, remembering the way Norf could press soft kisses down her spine. ‘My particular skill’ he’d called it, and he really hadn’t been exaggerating. Jack’s stroke paused again, his body seemingly torn between the kisses behind and the warmth ahead, his mouth making a whine of need she’d never heard before; deep and quiet and desperate, and her hips canted up to meet him. Then came an unseen catalyst—a soft bite to the fleshy bottom curve of Jack’s arse, she knew—and a quick, sudden thrust as he came inside her, his bottom lip worried between his teeth and a grunt escaping, a second orgasm washing over her. A desperate panting against her ear, his head resting on the pillow beside hers as he tried to catch his breath. Phryne ran her hands along his back soothingly, murmured words of adoration. 

“Was that…?” he whispered when he’d regained some control, and a flood of tenderness filled her.

“The end?” she whispered back; some things were just for them. He nodded. “Do you want it to be?”

“No.”

The ragged honesty cut through her. She ran her hands against his back again, smiling as she turned her head and pressed a kiss to his ear. “Then no, darling. We have so much more to share.”


	4. Chapter 4

Having washed at a basin, Jack stumbled back towards the bed and flopped onto his stomach. From the other side of the bed, Phryne—who had somehow managed to get through the evening looking only slightly rumpled—laughed as she drew the covers over them both. 

“Tired, Jack?” 

He grunted.

Norf had left the room a few minutes earlier, pressing a final kiss to Jack’s lips before thanking them both for a lovely evening and gathering his discarded clothes. It was somehow unsurprising that he hadn’t bothered to actually _dress_ , not that Jack was awake enough to do a damned thing about it. His muscles ached from exertion and his mind was rather blissfully fuzzy around the edges, like one too many whiskeys in front of a warm fire—not enough to lose his careful control, but enough to lower the inhibitions he wasn’t particularly wedded to.

Phryne ran a hand through his hair, and he lifted his head just long enough to move it to her stomach. He nuzzled against her sleepily, luxuriating in the feel of her fingers against his scalp.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked.

He made a noise he was reasonably certain she’d interpret as agreement and closed his eyes. 

“I thought so,” she murmured, tracing the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw.

With great effort, he opened one eye and glanced up. In the lamplight, her skin seemed to glow softly, her lips a soft pink and the slightest hint of freckles visible, and he was struck once again by how much he loved her. 

“Did you?” he rumbled.

The tenderness in her smile took him by surprise, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. She was always a woman of contradictions; diamond-hard brilliance and the softest heart, a sybarite who knew how not to be, who had come into this evening with his desires in mind. He suspected he could spend the rest of his life and still not know every facet of this woman, but he knew the things that truly mattered.

“Very much, Jack,” she said, pressing a kiss to his forehead, her fingers back in his hair. His eyes closed once more. “Now get some sleep.”

———

Jack had fallen into an exhausted slumber, eventually moving from his position against her stomach to find a pillow; Phryne pushed a lock of hair from his forehead and smiled when he snuffled sleepily. She doubted he’d move before mid-morning, despite his usual propensity for early rising. She, however, was hungry; pressing a kiss to his cheek—which was an absurdity given the evening’s events, but she could not find it in herself to mind the desire for little intimacies—she climbed out of the bed, wrapping herself in the hastily-discarded robe, and left the room.

Norf was seated at the kitchen table, and looked up when she drew near.

“Cheese?” he asked, gesturing to the platter left from dinner. “I was about to make tea.”

“No you weren’t,” Phryne said with a laugh. “Unless you’ve gained some domestic skills while I was away.”

Norf shrugged and grinned, completely without remorse. “Not in the least, I’m afraid.”

Snagging a piece of cheese and popping it into her mouth, Phryne set about making tea for the both of them. The kettle was quickly filled and set to heat, and two cups and saucers were taken from a shelf.

“How is he?” Norf asked as she bustled around the kitchen in search of the teapot.

“Asleep.”

“I meant…”

She found the teapot on a low shelf, and bent to retrieve it. “Don’t tell me you’re getting reflective in your dotage, Norf?”

He snorted. “Not a chance of that, Phrynekins. I was simply surprised he accepted the offer, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a… source of regret.”

She appreciated the thought; it had crossed her own mind, though the quiet contentment in his as he’d fallen asleep had set those worries at ease. He was… unexpected, her inspector. 

“He’s good,” Phryne said. “He’s wonderful. Thank you.”

There was silence for a moment as Phryne prepared the teapot. Not uncomfortable, but questions were hanging in the air all the same. Eventually the kettle whistled, and Phryne took it off the heat and filled the pot. 

“Is he aware you love him?”

She paused, just for a moment, before setting the kettle aside. “He is.”

“And does he know how unlikely that is?”

She smiled, laying a handful of biscuits onto the tray. “On the contrary, I think it’s the likeliest thing imaginable.”

“Now who’s gotten reflective?” Norf teased. “I am pleased for you though. Never would have fathomed it.”

“I do hate to be predictable,” Phryne said lightly, carrying the tea tray to the table and taking a seat. “Even to myself.”

Norf reached across the table and squeezed her hand affectionately. “I doubt you could if you tried,” he said. “You’ll have to forgive me for saying it, but it suits you.” 

Phryne rolled her eyes in mock self-deprecation. 

“Mother doesn’t know whether to despair or rejoice,” she said dryly, pouring them each a cup of tea. “She’s positively ecstatic to have an excuse to dither so publicly.”

“Oh, sod your mother,” Norf snorted. “If you’re happy, truly happy—and don’t say you aren’t, I’ve known you far too long—then forget her and let yourself be happy.” 

It wasn’t a new thought, but to hear an old friend say so… Phryne glanced down into her teacup so he couldn’t see her expression. She suspected it was positively lovesick. 

“And you?” she asked.

“Oh, I fully intend to continue being deliriously happy shagging my way through half of England and the continent until I’m old and grey,” Norf said, waving his hand. 

“I would expect nothing less.” 

Norf gave a waggle of his eyebrows. “You’re both welcome to join me.” Phryne was silent, and Norf laughed. “No, I didn’t think so.”

Phryne gave him a cool, questioning look, trying to ignore the discomfort of being so transparent. Norf continued on, blissfully unaware of her reproof.

“I think we can agree we’ve had some lovely evenings with a third party,” he said. “But never have I so clearly _been_ the third party.”

Her back prickled, as loathe as she was to admit it; she knew precisely what he meant, and that made it all the worse. “Were you dissatisfied?”

“Not in the least!” he assured her hastily. “You were both marvelous. And you were entirely right about his mouth. Are you certain he never—”

“Yes,” she said in a tone that made it clear he should get to the point quickly.

He took it with the same amount of offense he usually would, which was to say absolutely none. “All I meant, Phryne, was… the first time you mentioned your inspector, you said that you weren’t certain you were inclined to share. I think tonight made it very clear that you’re not.”

“I happen to think I was perfectly generous,” Phryne said. 

“Oh, absolutely,” he agreed, then gave her a suspiciously knowing smile. “But that’s never been up to you before.”

“No,” she said mildly, “I suppose it hasn’t. More tea?”

———

When Jack woke up, the bed was empty; after a second he realised the sound of the bedroom door was what had woke him, and he pulled the quilt back just enough for Phryne to slip beneath. Her body was cool to the touch, and she wriggled into his waiting arms.

“Where were you?” he asked, not really awake.

“Hungry. Rescued Norf from his appalling lack of domestic skills.”

Jack huffed out a laugh.

“That does not surprise me,” he mumbled. “He’s fortunate he has other talents.”

Phryne laughed, wrapping her arms around him to snuggle closer. 

“Should I be concerned that you’ll opt for a life of debauchery then?”

Her tone was teasing, but even in his sleep-induced haze he could feel the real questions beneath it. He sighed. 

“Phryne, I… you know I can’t do this again. Once, yes, with precautions in place. And even that is madness if I think about it for too long.” His lips quirked. “Though I can’t say I regret it. But I’m afraid on this point I must be a disappointment to you.”

Her fingers on his waist tensed, then forcibly relaxed.

“Not a disappointment,” she said quietly. “I find I’m greedy enough that I… prefer to have your full attention.”

He cracked open an eye to look at her; her bottom lip was worried between her teeth, but her gaze was… serene in its contentment. Its certainty. Another contradiction for him to reconcile. He had the time.

“Miss Fisher, my attention is entirely yours,” he said, then gave a small smile, “or it will be come morning. At the moment I’m likely to throw you over for another hour of sleep.”

She kissed his chest, slipped her leg through his to entwine them. His hand trailed down her back to cup her arse, pulling her close. 

“I suppose I can cope with that,” she said, her mouth leaving a trail of kisses against his clavicle and up his neck. “Under the circumstances.”

“Shh,” he muttered, not at all reprovingly. “Astray tomorrow. Sleep now.”

She laughed, tucking her head against his chest and stilling, until the only sound in the room was their mingled breathing as they drifted off to sleep. 


End file.
